


Purpleberry Tea

by pumpkinperson



Series: Do You Have A Moment To Talk About Our Lord And Savior, Captain Hawthorne? [2]
Category: The Outer Worlds (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Drinking, F/M, Slow Burn, Smoking, Violence, covers part of the "empty man" quest, i'm physically incapable of doing so, i'm sorry i can't not write angst, little bit of fluff before shit hits the fan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:00:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24119155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkinperson/pseuds/pumpkinperson
Summary: a·ban·don/əˈbandən/verb· cease to support or look after (someone); desert· give up completely (a course of action, a practice, or a way of thinking)noun· complete lack of inhibition or restraint
Relationships: The Captain/Maximillian DeSoto
Series: Do You Have A Moment To Talk About Our Lord And Savior, Captain Hawthorne? [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1727008
Comments: 27
Kudos: 37





	1. Sleep Is For The Dead

**Author's Note:**

> please be warned: this is part 2 and context will be lost if this is your first work. everything in the "Do You Have A Moment" series is sequential, so feel free to hop over to "Raptiphobia" if you wanna read that one first  
> anyway, i hope you enjoy! much love to all my readers ♡

Alex stared at the ceiling of her bed frame.

It wasn’t interesting, only a blank, gray wall of plastic. Or metal. It could’ve been metal. That would make sense, considering how _uncomfortable_ her bed was. The mattress wasn’t any better, a thin covering protecting her back from the plastic and/or metal surface it was sitting on.

She shifted, readjusting her spine in an attempt to find a position that would make it possible to sleep.

Alex could pretend it was her bed causing her lack of rest. She could pretend it was the stack of papers scattered on her desk, or her terminal flashing with new messages, both begging for her attention. She could pretend it was the temperature being too cold, the lights in her cabin having no “off” switch, or even the planet that they were orbiting was just too damn distracting.

She could pretend all she wanted, but she knew there were two, very big reasons as to why she couldn’t sleep.

Nightmares, and thoughts about a certain Maximillian Desoto. 

Since Monarch, since Max held her while she poured out her fears to him, he had made himself scarce. She hardly saw him, and that unsettled her, and it didn’t help that she had been stuck in the ship for two weeks already, Ellie grounding her and prohibiting her from leaving. All there was to do was talk to her crewmates - since she wasn’t allowed to leave to even pick up supplies - and the person she wanted to talk to most had locked himself in his room. He was the one thing that was constant, his counsel, his arguments, his sarcastic remarks, and his distance left a gaping hole in her stomach that nothing could fill. She fucking missed him, but couldn’t find the courage to knock on his door.

Because she was on ship-arrest, there was ample time to think. Then think some more. Then overthink everything previously thought, and as she did so, various explanations rose to her mind as to why Max was no longer present, ranging from simple to complex, to the completely absurd.

What if the Order of Scientific Inquiry’s rules dictated he couldn’t leave his room for a particular week? What if some unknown space disease incapacitated him? What if he was just sleeping? A lot? Like, a ridiculously unhealthy amount?

Ellie was amused at Alex’s questions when she had asked her, an eyebrow raised and arms crossed.

 _“Absolutely,”_ she had said, _“that’s definitely why he hasn’t left his room, because the man has an incurable disease called ‘shithead-itis’ and he’s been sleeping it off for the past 86 hours.”_

Alex shifted in her bed again, tucking one arm underneath her pillow. It was irrational, sure, but every time she passed by the closed door to his room, it wasn’t possible to think rationally. Not after he had stayed with her during her recovery and stroked her hair and whispered comforts in her ear. Not after he had become a source of strength for her, someone to trust, to tell her secrets to, fueling a desire that settled between her thighs.

She had thought everything would change when she recovered, and it did, but it changed for the worse. Daydreams of being closer to him - laughing and kissing and talking about nothing at all - shattered.

_You scared him off, of course no one wants to be with someone who’s broken. Someone who can’t even sleep, or remember their real name, or has been, for all intents and purposes, dead the past 70 years._

Alex threw her covers off in frustration, swinging her feet over the edge of her bed and watched the blankets tumble to the ground. She rubbed her face with her hands, pressing her fingertips into her skin and stretching it. Exhaustion was setting into her body but her mind was very much active and very much unwilling to go to sleep. Hair fell in front of her eyes, and she looked at it and sighed. 

The terminal across from her chirped, and a light flashed orange. A new message. A new thing to look at, a new thing to investigate when she had no ability to. She had half a mind to take the sabre sitting next to her bed and just run it through the screen to try and dim the restless, helpless feeling welling inside her.

She grabbed the clothes laying in a pile on the ground, now partially covered by the blankets. It was a thin shirt, white with engine grease staining it, but it was something and she slipped it on. It hung past her hips, the cloth too big on her frame, and the sleeves cascaded to her elbows.

She left her trousers on the ground. Why should she bother? No one was ever awake this late, the only person who might be was now avoiding her, or was sleeping, or had an illness called “shithead-itis”. Maybe all three.

Alex shook her head to rid her thoughts and more hair fell into her eyes. An elastic hair band sat on her desk, and she picked it up, putting it in her mouth and holding it with her lips. She struggled to run her hands through the knots forming in her hair, but managed to tie it off into a freeform bun that was slowly falling into a ponytail.

She glared at the terminal, silently wishing it to stop flickering it at her, and when no supernatural powers emerged, she left her cabin.

The rest of the ship was quiet and cold, just like her room. A gentle hum vibrated the walls and she walked up the stairs to the kitchen. She needed some kind of caffeine, some way to energize her body the same way her mind was. Maybe she would get enough willpower to tackle the ever-growing stack of messages and files.

The hallway was a mixture of closed and open doors. Parvati’s, Felix’s, and Nyoka’s were open, all of them sleeping, and one of them sleeping in what looked to be an incredibly uncomfortable position. Alex felt a pang of envy at Nyoka’s carefree rest. Even with one leg in her bed and the rest of her body glued to the floor, her back bending in the most impossible way, she snored peacefully and with abandon.

Alex paused at the entrance to Max’s room. The door was still shut, and no sounds were heard from within. _What if I did something wrong? Would he tell me if I had?_

Memories surfaced, the look in his eyes soft and kind, understanding and warm. His arms strong as they wrapped around her and she collapsed into his chest. His low, rumbling voice telling her it would be okay.

_That wasn’t nothing, it had to mean something, right?_

Too many questions for so late a night, and Alex shut out her thoughts as she made her through the kitchen and into the bathroom. She closed the door behind her, and gripped the sides of the sink, staring into the reflection looking back at her.

She looked a fucking mess.

Her hair fell all around her neck and her face, barely being contained by the band she had tied it into. Her cheekbones were too sharp, cheeks too hollow, bags underneath her eyes getting darker by the day. Her skin was dry, and something that was either dirt or engine fluid streaked by her ear. When was the last time she had looked at a mirror?

Alex turned her head, now looking at the scar that was beginning to develop on her neck and jaw. Ellie had already taken the stitches out, and small red dots lined the wound. At least it was healing, and in a day or two she would - hopefully - be cleared to leave the ship. It was something she waited impatiently for, growing nervous and agitated, pacing the hallways of the ship. She felt useless, trapped, stuck in damn purgatory. All she had done during those two weeks was ignore messages on her terminal and talk to her crew. It had gotten to the point even Felix, the most talkative person she knew, finally responded to her questions with, _“You ever try watchin’ serials, boss?”_ Which she had. And wasn't impressed.

She turned on the water and cupped her hands underneath, allowing it to pool on her skin. She closed her eyes and splashed the water in her face, quietly gasping at the chilliness of it. The water dripped into the sink below, small droplets forming at the tip of her nose and her chin.

Alex fumbled for the nearest towel, dabbing the remaining water off her face. The woman in the mirror glared at her as she did so, a hint of disgust in her eyes. _Honestly, why would you think Max would want anything to do with you? Look at you._

She threw the towel at the reflection, and flipped it off, but the hateful voice continued.

_He would want someone more intelligent, more religious, more attractive and experienced and older and everything you’re not._

She opened the door to the bathroom, rubbing her eyes.

 _He’s sophisticated, and honest, and mature, and -_ **_holy shit, where the fuck did he come from?_ **

Max stood in the entrance of the kitchen, his own shock faint in his expression, before he recovered - _because of course he did, cool, calm, and collected fucker_ \- and nodded in her direction. She could’ve sworn he had tilted his eyes in the direction of her bare legs, but her overactive mind dismissed it as her own desire of wanting him to.

“Captain.”

Alex winced inwardly, as memories of her name on his lips resurfaced. He had called her “Captain” for so long, when he finally said “Alex” it was a victory. An incredibly short-lived victory.

She lightly touched the scar healing on her cheek, the rough bumps and raised skin bringing comfort for some unknown reason. Max turned away from her, and opened up one of the cabinets, searching for something. She narrowed her eyes at his back, hoping the shift in his muscles would give insight into his thoughts and why he had been in his room for so long. Maybe if she stared hard enough, the cloth would suddenly form the words "I was just sleeping, I promise".

It didn’t. But his muscles were still really nice to look at.

“So, what brings a guy like you to a place like this?” she asked, and immediately regretted it. _Sure, use a pick up line on a priest. That can't go wrong._

He didn’t take his attention away from the cabinets, instead opening another one and looking inside, moving around the dehydrated food in search of whatever he was trying to find.

“A place like the kitchen?” he asked, and she could swear he sounded amused.

She could feel her cheeks burning and while his back was turned, Alex walked over to a chair and sat down. She rested her elbows on the table and held her face in her hands, her skin warm to the touch.

“Yuppers.” _What the - what the fuck. What am I_ _saying._

But Max didn't miss a beat.

“Well, I had thought I would get some food, considering it _is_ essential for survival. I was also planning on listening to the tossball match that was on earlier tonight,” he said, and she could hear the humor in his voice so loud and clear now, the smirk already pictured in her mind.

“Mmm.”

Max did this to her. She was fine when talking to other people, her charm shining through like a lawforsaken beacon, but as soon as she was talking to him one-on-one she was undone, wholly and thoroughly undone.

Alex still had not taken her hands away from her face, and when she finally felt the warmth in her cheeks fade, she let them slide away to the the table; only to see that Max’s back was no longer facing her, and it was his smirking, warm eyes instead.

“Would you care for some tea, Captain?”

She picked at her nails as nonchalantly as she could - which wasn't very - and nodded, not trusting herself to speak anymore.

She watched out of the corner of her eye as he retrieved the box of Trip-Teaz from the cabinet and the purpleberry fizzy tea from the fridge. Her stomach fluttered in response, the combination uncommon, but undoubtedly her favorite. A thought rose to her mind. _If he knows this, does that mean he does care? In some small way?_

Max prepared the tea, bringing down two mugs and filling them with steaming liquid. He walked over to the table and set one down in front of her, and took a sip from his own as he pulled out the chair across from her.

It was reminiscent of their talks before Monarch, right down to the tea and the seating. She breathed deeply through her nose, and just as she was going to ask him why he had been avoiding her, he set his mug on the table and spoke.

“I have a confession to make.”


	2. Forever Internally Screaming

Alex twisted her ankles around each other and bent her toes inward. Her thighs shut close, as if it would stop the onslaught of possibilities. 

_A confession? Do vicars give confessions? Is it about me? Is he going to profess his love in the middle of the kitchen? Oh Law, what if he did? What if he was going to reach across the table and take my hands in his and put his lips on mine? His perfect, intoxicating mouth--_

“It pertains to our next trip to Monarch. Specifically, Fallbrook.”

And just like that, she deflated. She could practically hear her bubble burst.

“Oh. Right. Your, um. Your scholar.”

Max paused, watching her above the rim of his mug as he took another sip. Could he hear her heart hammering in her chest?

“Yes, it is about him. I’m afraid I haven’t been--”

Max was interrupted by the sound of a door opening, and Ellie emerged from her room, groggy and yawning loudly. She blinked, slow and trying to comprehend the fact there were other people in the kitchen.

“What, are we on a new sleep schedule now? No one...” she stopped, yawning again, “no one notified me.”

Alex watched as Ellie walked, or rather strolled, to the fridge and pulled out a jug of water. It was silent between her and Max as the sawbones tucked the entire jug in the crook of her elbow, as if she was holding an infant. Ellie looked back at them, and raised an eyebrow.

“You two talking about something important?”

Max took another sip of his tea. “And if we were?”

“Then I would say it’s none of my business.” Ellie turned around and started walking back to her room, with her jug of water still tucked into her arm, and stopped, turning back around. “But what _is_ my business is making sure you guys are healthy.”

Alex fought the urge to touch her scar.

“You,” she pointed at Max, “put the damn cream on your burns. And _you,"_ she narrowed her eyes at Alex and pointed at her. “Stop touching your damn face. I know you’re doing it behind my back and if I catch you, I’m holding you here for another week by the power invested in me as the ship doctor.”

“Uh,” Alex stammered, her face now permanently red and the want to touch her face even more powerful than before. “Yeah. I mean, I’m not touching anything, why would, um, why would you think that?”

Ellie didn’t respond, only pointing now her forefinger and her middle finger towards her eyes and back at the both of them.

She retreated into her room, but not before taking another glance at the two of them sitting at the table, contemplation in her eyes. When her door closed Alex exhaled, not realizing she had been holding her breath, and couldn’t help but feel as though she had just been chastised by her mother. Which, quite honestly, couldn’t be farther from the truth as Ellie was anything but maternal, and refused to acknowledge she cared about anyone.

 _Thoughts for another night._ Alex looked back at Max, who remained quiet, and was studying her with such intensity it didn’t help drain the warmth from her cheeks. 

She coughed, as if it would excuse the red hue that was undoubtedly staining her face. “I heard you, um. You got into it with a mantiqueen?”

He chuckled, and Alex felt her stomach flutter again, the sound comforting and warm. “I hardly think ‘got into it’ would be the proper way to describe the altercation, but yes. I ‘got into it’ with a mantiqueen. They appear much bigger when you fight one by yourself.”

Alex’s imagination ran away with her, as it had when she had first been told about what Max had done for her. Nyoka told the best stories, and she did him justice - albeit with drunken, slurred words - describing him as heroic and brave, but sprinkling in his stubborn asshole tendencies. A lone man with only his shotgun strapped to his back taking on the biggest predator on Monarch in the shimmering night sky. He fought valiantly, bullet by bullet, taking more damage than any one man can withstand, and he did it all to protect his captain.

It was something out of the damn serials she'd been watching. And with her overactive mind, it was all too easy to envision the vicar doing exactly that, and it was much more satisfying than the too perfect men gracing the pictures. Every limb tingled, goosebumps crawling up her skin, and her heartbeat raced faster in her ears. _I’m hopeless. Truly, honest-to-law, hopeless._

“It must’ve been hard. I mean, you don’t have armor, and just the shotgun…” she trailed off, the images she conjured still fresh in her mind and extremely distracting.

“It was necessary. I couldn’t let anything happen to you,” he said softly, his gaze averted.

 _Fuck._ There was no right way to respond to that. If she trusted herself to speak, something incredibly dumb would stutter out. Or rather, even worse, her desire would overtake her right then and there, and there was still a very big possibility Max didn’t even care for her in that way.

 _But he_ ** _does_** _care. This sarcastic, wildly handsome man does care._

However, Max didn’t need to burst her bubble this time. She did it all on her own, as she thought of another reason why he went to such lengths to keep her alive. Alex was the captain, and without her, there would be no crew. No saving Halcyon, no helping people, and no scholar--

She had forgotten he was wanting to tell her something about the scholar. Her mind was preoccupied with her own dreams. _Selfish._

“Um, you were saying something? About Fallbrook?” she asked, running her fingers along the healed burn on her hand, in place of the raptidon wounds.

She looked at him, and it was the first time in a while she had seen uncertainty pass through those pale, earthy eyes.

“Yes, I suppose I was.”

She waited for another response, and when one did not come, she tilted her head.

“Is the scholar not in Fallbrook anymore, or something? Because we can go someplace else, it’s not a problem.”

Max drank the last of his tea and stood up from the table to put the mug in the sink. She could’ve sworn there was… regret in his face. “No, he’s still in Fallbrook.”

Alex looked at the back of his head, and envisioned herself combing her fingers through his hair. “Mmm, okay. So… what _is_ the problem?”

Max remained quiet as he turned on the faucet and ran his glass underneath the water. She watched him clean up, washing it with a rag and putting the mug away. It was a domestic act, but one that fueled her wants. What she would give to pull up behind him and wrap her arms around his chest, and feel the muscles underneath his vestments as she placed gentle kisses on his neck.

_Hopeless._

He still hadn't answered her question, so she offered her own reason. “I know, this ‘scholarly man’ isn’t a man at all! He’s half automechanical, half mantisaur, and all romance.”

Max laughed, and Alex reveled in the sound. “It seems like you’ve watched a couple of serials, Captain.”

“Ah, well, Felix kinda told me to, so.”

He turned around to face her, but didn’t take a seat back down at the table. “No, unfortunately it isn’t as grand as that. I only wished to tell you that it’s possible he may not have the knowledge required to unlock the secrets in the book. French is a dead language, after all, so even he may be subject to failure.”

Alex nodded, her fingers now absentmindedly tracing the scars on her arm. “Oh. I mean, it’s like you said, right? It’s a long shot? But that doesn’t mean we can’t still try. This book is important to you, and I want to help anyway I can. So we’ll see him and we can go from there.”

Max had his gaze turned away, staring at the ground below him. He didn't say anything in response, his expression holding deep thoughts.

She offered him a smile. “But thanks for telling me. Sets the right expectations an' all.”

There it was again. She did see it, she wasn’t imagining it. The same look she faintly remembered after the attack on Monarch. A look of guilt, and it disappeared as quickly as it came.

He nodded. “I should go put that lawforsaken cream on, before Dr. Fenhill senses there’s something amiss in the medical balance.”

Alex realized she was touching her wounds, and pulled her hand away. “Yeah, the serials are getting to be a little… exhausting. They’re good in small bits, but if one more woman screams loud enough to break my speakers again, I might get a touch homicidal. I'm already going stir-crazy, I don't need to be crazy _and_ homicidal. We’ll head for Fallbrook when Ellie clears me, yeah?”

Max smiled at her. The warm, slight smile she had missed so much. “Sleep well, Alex.”

And he left her, walking to his room and shutting the door behind him.

He left her with her name on his lips, just like the memories she held so close. 

She moved her mug off to the side, the untouched tea inside sloshing and releasing the scent of purpleberry. Her elbows still sat atop the table, and she folded her arms, resting her head on them. Her eyes searched the blank face of the mug, the conversation with Max taking a hold of her, and the look of his regret overshadowing all other thoughts.

What reason would he have to feel guilty? He told her his doubts. He’d been upfront with her on how this trip may end up fruitless. If it gave him a chance at peace, Alex was willing to take the risks, but why was he still not comforted? Was there something she should've said differently?

The band in her hair finally gave way, and she could feel the knotted mass falling around her face and arms. This time she was too tired to fix it, instead opting to stare blankly at her mug. Her eyelids were heavy, and her lashes fluttered together as she fought the urge to sleep, knowing she should move back to her cabin.

Her body’s demands for rest were too much, however. She fell into unconsciousness, images replaying in her mind of Max’s smile, his laugh, and his eyes dark with remorse.


	3. Glass Half Full

_“I'M FREE!”_

The declaration came seconds after Ellie said Alex was cleared to leave the ship. Ellie barely had the time to finish her sentence before the captain leapt from her chair, and raised her hands to the ceiling in a 'hallelujah' fashion.

“With restrictions,” Ellie responded, fishing something from her bag. “No lifting, no fighting unless necessary, no sex, and _no touching your wounds._ They’re still healing, and you’re gonna catch an infection if you keep doing that.”

Alex could kiss the doctor at that moment, joy overwhelming her senses and happiness bubbling in her stomach. She barely heard Ellie, her mind already racing at the thought of leaving the ship.

“I can leave! I can go to a bar! I can do _so many things_ \--”

“Except lifting, fighting, sex, and touching your injuries.”

“--I can run and jump and _oh my lord I can talk to other people!”_

Ellie rolled her eyes, and smirked. “Sure, Cap. You hear what I said?”

Alex, in fact, did not hear what she said, her mind going over all the things she missed while on ship-arrest. She took Ellie’s face in her hands, and actually did kiss her, a smooch firmly placed on her forehead, smiling and completely forgetting the doctor’s boundaries. She was just so damn _happy._

“Ahh! I’m leaving, we’re leaving right now, oh my lord, oh my lord--” she continued repeating herself, running out of Ellie’s room, and immediately going to the vicar’s.

“Max! Maxy, Maximillo, Maaaax!” she was unable to contain herself, knocking on the door, her entire body buzzing with energy. She bounced on her heels, willing for him to appear.

Her wish was granted, and the entrance opened to reveal an underdressed Max, with only his blue trousers and an undershirt covering him. At any other time, Alex would have blushed and looked longingly at the the muscles on full display, but she had a one track mind and absolutely no shame and leapt into his unsuspecting arms, wrapping her elbows around his neck and her legs around his hips.

Max stumbled backwards, the unexpected weight throwing him off, but he recovered and supported her, one hand going to her back and the other on her waist.

“I can leave! We can leave! To meet your scholar! I can do things again!”

The man holding her had a decidedly pink tint on his cheeks, but Alex was too oblivious at that moment to notice. She simply giggled, practically squealing with excitement.

“I - uh - that’s, um, good. Very good. Shall I get dressed, Captain?”

She squeezed him in a final hug and dropped herself to the ground, “Yes! We’re off to Fallbrook, and then we’re gonna find Catherine, and then I have to do that thing for the MSI and oh, also Phineas’ thing… Oh! I have to tell Parvati! She’s been wanting those cakes for her date and we can go get them now!”

And just like that, she was off again, this time down the stairs and to the cargo hold. If Alex had stayed just a few moments more, she would’ve heard Ellie, who was now leaning against her door frame and looking at the imaginary dust trail the captain had made. 

“...It was only a couple of weeks. You’d think I made her stay in here for a whole damned year.”

Max stood at his own doorway, arms by his side, stunned at what had just taken place. “She called me ‘Maximillo’. Did you hear that?” he paused and looked at Ellie. _“Maximillo.”_

“I think the whole ship heard her, Maxy.”

"Don't call me that."

* * *

Alex could feel the ache in her stomach where her injuries were healing, after running and jumping and practically _frolicking_ through the ship as she told everyone she could leave. The pain in her wounds was the last thing on her mind, however, as she breathed in the not-so-fresh air of Monarch. She never would’ve thought she would miss the rotten stench, but when she felt the sun on her face and closed her eyes, she was happy.

It had been a long time since she felt this way. Nothing weighed her down, and although she later recalled what had transpired in Max's room, she couldn't find the sense to feel even slightly negative about it, not embarrassed or awkward in the least. Every time her mind wandered to what it felt like for him to hold her, the burn she was so familiar to warmed her cheeks, but it was out of desire rather than anything else. It was blissful. Everything was fucking perfect. Alex felt the sun on her skin, and wind sweep her hair, and even the rocks she had complained about before brought her joy. She was on her way to helping the vicar find a chance at peace, and Nyoka had opened up to her about her past.

She was useful, she was moving, she was kicking ass (although a little farther away than normal and with a sniper rifle), and there had been no sign of the monstrous creatures responsible for her scars. It was like the universe said _“We know it’s been shitty, but here’s something to make up for it.”_

It was a damn good day.

They were approaching Fallbrook now, Nyoka pointing to the crossroads and informing them of their location. A mountain loomed in the distance, and Alex had to hide the excitement fluttering in her chest. _Civili-fucking-zation. After we find Catherine, we can find Reginald, and oh my lord I hope they have a bar._

“Hey, Max, when we find this scholar or whatever, what’re you gonna do? You gon’ take a whole week and sit down with him while he reads this book or somethin’?”

“That is an excellent question, Ms. Ramnarim-Wentworth. To be perfectly honest, I hadn’t quite gotten that far in my plans.”

Nyoka snorted. “I have a helluva hard time believin’ that. You literally preach somethin’ called ‘the plan’.”

“She’s got you there,” Alex said, and she smiled in the banter of her crew. It was something she listened to on the ship, but it felt different out in the open, in the wild.

Max remained quiet, but the captain felt nothing wrong with it. That was just him, introspective, thoughtful. Maybe he was considering Nyoka’s question, wondering what he would do once he found the scholar. It was a good question, and Alex did find it a touch odd that he hadn’t followed through with what may happen.

Her train of thought was interrupted by the outline of the city built into the mountainside, and her thoughts immediately turned right back to _“oh my lord there’s people”._

“You guys. Guys. Do you see this? Do you see this city? With people? And probably bars and pickpockets and mantisaur porn?” Alex stopped, her eyes bright as she gazed at the entrance to Fallbrook. “It’s _beautiful.”_

“You and me have got diff’rent definitions of ‘beautiful’.”

Alex almost shrieked in response, happiness completely overwhelming her, and she held her hands in fists to her chest.

As soon as they entered the city, she noticed it was immensely different than any other one she had been to. First, there was a smell. And it wasn’t sulfur, no, it smelled more like piss and sex and alcohol, all rolled into one, but Alex wasn’t disgusted. In fact, this smell was almost familiar, like a tune that sang in the back of her mind but her lungs couldn’t carry the note. It was borderline endearing, for the strangest fucking reason.

The next thing her attention turned to were the lights strung across the broken down homes, wires frayed and falling from leaky pipes. The lights emitted a warm glow, washing the town in a faint yellow tint that filled her even more with a sense of nostalgia. She basked in the shittiness of the town, taking in every single detail that caught her eye until a man standing a few yards away waved her down.

“Hey! Welcome to Fallbrook!”

Alex walked up with her crew members in tow, who she was sure were not enjoying the ambiance as much as she was. The man continued to wave, friendly and smiling. "How can I help you folks today? You lookin' for a place to rest, a place to drink, or both?"

"Actually, we're looking for Catherine. Can you tell me where she is?"

At the mention of the woman’s name, the man grew nervous, scratching the back of his neck and fiddling with the end of his shirt cuffs. “Oh, yeah? Catherine, huh?.”

Alex took a step closer, gently touching the man on his shoulder. “You’re not in trouble. I’m just looking for a man by the name of Reginald Chaney, and I think she'll be able to help me find him.”

He looked at her, then glanced over at Max and Nyoka. He seemed to relax after she gave a reassuring squeeze, and nodded. “She’s over yonder in the House o' Hospitality.”

The captain released her hold and looked back to her crew.

Both of them were covering their noses. In an extremely conspicuous manner. Nyoka had bunched her scarf over the lower half of her face, and Max didn’t even try to be discreet, just pinching his nose with his fingers.

Alex raised her eyebrow at Max.

“I’m expecting a sneeze,” he said calmly - though nasally. “This has nothing to do with the fact it smells like the ass end of a marauder.”

She shifted her gaze to Nyoka, whose voice was muffled through the cloth. “What? I’m always dressed like this. It’s the, uh, the uh - the dust. Lots of dust. Too much. I'm allergic to the, uh, dust. Yeah.”

Alex sniffed - and almost gagged. It smelled a lot worse in this spot than it did at the entrance. “Okay, yeah, that's - that's pretty bad.”

She held her breath as they left the slightly quivering man and made their way through the town. She released it when they were farther in, and was relieved when the stench lessened. The feeling of knowing a place like this came back to Alex, but when she tried to search her memories she found none. A blank space staring at her in her mind, a period of complete blackness before she woke up in the cryo-pod.

It made her feel uneasy thinking about it, so she opted not to. Instead, she listened to the conversations as she passed them by, and searched the run-down buildings for a sign that said “Hospitality”.

When she found it, Catherine was everything she expected and everything she wasn’t, as the leader of the Fallbrook. 

Guarded by two men, armored and armed from their boots to their head, they watched Alex carefully as she stepped into the dimly lit office. A scarred woman stood at a desk, and when she looked up at Alex and her two companions, her lips deepened into a scowl, wrinkles developing in her nose.

“Look, I don’t have damn pamphlets, and I don’t have the time nor the fucking patience to sit down and tell you how our town is so fucking great. That’s why we’ve got Mortimer standing out there. You want directions? Go ask the guy I’m fucking paying to give you them,” she spat, palms flat on her desk and a look of murder in her eyes.

Alex smiled. “Oh, I can assure you, I already know this place is the best shit stain I’ll ever lay eyes on.”

Catherine blinked, and a corner of her lips pulled into a smirk. “Well, then.”

Max coughed from behind her, voice low and rushed. “We don’t want to waste any more of your valuable time. I’m looking for a man by the name of Reginald Chaney, he landed here not too long ago.”

“I swear to the fucking void, if he’s done something in my town I’m gonna gut him myself. Where was he…” she bent down and pulled a cabinet out, revealing a mess of files. “Chaney, Chaney… There he is. Building 9 South.”

Alex settled into her blissful state again, so close to perhaps giving Max closure. “You ready to find the scho--”

She had turned around, and found that Max was no longer there. 


	4. Glass Half Empty

As soon as Catherine said the location of Reginald Chaney, Max booked it.

He had the frailest plan imaginable foremost in his mind; if he could reach that greasy ex-convict before Alex did, he would stand a chance to have his cake and eat it too.

It was a desperate thought. A combination of needing some sort of closure in the form of revenge and the desire to stay close to his captain, both of them competing with one another to stay first on his mind.

Another thought prodded at him. _If I had told her back on the ship, we wouldn’t be here. We wouldn’t be in this mess, and I wouldn’t be forced to run to cover up my secrets._

Max had wanted to tell her, to confess his deceit to her, and he had locked himself in his room weighing out all the different options and outcomes of the decision. He flipped his morals and desires constantly, and had avoided Alex, because if he had seen her, or spoke with her, he would fall into his emotions again, just as he did when he woke her up from her nightmare. Finally, he had found the will to confess when he saw her in the kitchen, and despite the burning fire that roared in his heart when he saw her, legs bare and skin glistening, he was still going to tell her.

It was when Ellie walked in, something so frustratingly inconsequential, that his will broke. It resulted in him lying to Alex. Again.

But it didn’t matter anymore. He was here, and the thoughts containing all the rage and anger that had been mounting these past months - hell, _years_ \- won out. He had spent so fucking long on a wild goose chase, running after a journal that was in a dead fucking langauge, getting himself stationed in some washed up, dirty town whose people looked like fucking degenerate zombies waiting to die.

Max was furious, and there was only one thing he could think of doing at that moment.

Bloodthirsty rage contorting his face, he slammed open the door to Chaney’s house. When the man he was looking for wasn’t there, he tore through the small room, opening cabinets and throwing everything useless out. He had a mind to smash the bottles of wine, just out of spite and hatred, but stopped when he found the portable terminal stashed in the cupboard.

Max read through the log, and the words inflamed his anger.

“Of course he’s fucking panning for gold.”

He ran through the door, hell bent on getting to Chaney. The surroundings were lost to him, as chattering patrons paused to watch him run by, the sunlight returning as he passed through the mountain, and the rushing sound of the water fell on deaf ears.

He walked through the river, the current slowing his steps and his trousers soaked. He could see the wall in the distance, not too much farther to go. Just a little bit more, and he could beat Chaney’s face in with his fist.

A nagging, persistent thought tugged at the back of his mind. A distant, familiar voice that said, _“people who do the wrong thing don’t stop to ask themselves if they are.”_

He ignored it.

The outline of a man warming his hands by a fire appeared as Max rounded the corner. His feet found dry land, and now that the water wasn’t weighing him down and he was just a couple of yards away, the rage that had been building since he first found out the book was in a dead language, spiraled. The edges of his vision turned black, and his hands itched to be wrapped around Chaney’s throat, opening and closing in tight fists.

Max stepped over rocks and walked through grass, his murderous gaze never wavering from the face of the man who sent him chasing after a fucking book; a book he _knew_ would not answer his questions.

Chaney looked up from the fire, and Max relished in the fear that took a hold of the man’s face.

“Oh, hey, uh, V-Vicar Max. What’re you, uh, what’re you doin’ here? I thought you scientians weren’t - uh - welcome around these parts,” he stuttered, slowly backing away from the man intent on his painful death.

“You would like that, wouldn’t you? You thought you were in a place where I couldn’t find you. Well, guess what, Reggie.” The vicar had him backed against the wall, and he drew closer until he was only inches away. _“I fucking did.”_

“L-look, we can talk about this, right? Let’s - let’s talk about it, all nice-like.”

Max gripped Chaney’s throat, and lifted him off the ground, his feet dangling in the air. “I’m done talking, you parasitic piece of shit.”

He had dreamed of this moment. He could almost hear the adrenaline running through his veins, his head cloudy with the different, brutal ways he could end this man’s life. Chaney clawed at the vicar's hand wrapped around his neck, gasping for air.

Max rammed his knee into Chaney's stomach, and the guttural cry that escaped was all too satisfying. Drawing back his arm, Max narrowed his eyes at the ex-convict and allowed a small, malicious smile to take form. He threw his fist into his face, hearing knuckles connect with cartilage and blood broke free from Chaney's nose, splattering his face and the hand holding him above the ground.

“L-lady,” Chaney choked, spit and blood landing on Max’s hand. “He-help me--”

The words that were sputtered didn’t process in his mind, and Max tightened his hold on the man’s throat, before throwing him to the ground. Chaney’s body curled, his hands holding his nose and legs folded into his stomach. He heaved, coughing as the air rushed back to him. Max pulled out his shotgun and raised the muzzle towards the sky, ready to pummel the butt end of it into the man’s face, dreaming of the sound when the metal struck bone.

“Max?”

A voice, sweet and innocent and hesitant, almost lost to the darkness of his rage.

_Alex?_

And despite every single instinct inside his body telling him not to, that he didn't want to see her, he turned around.

He thought he knew what emotions her eyes would hold for him. He had thought about it all too much and he expected disappointment, anger, or even hatred. All of these things he was more than familiar with, but when he raised his eyes to hers he found something far worse, and far more familiar. Fear.

He had caused it once, and only once, before. When he did, he swore he would do everything in his power to never do it again.

Now here he was. Shotgun in hand, threatening a bleeding, defenseless man who was coughing his lungs into the ground.

“Max, what’s going on?” she asked, and it twisted his heart. Her words were small and soft, asking for an explanation, anything, that would make this seem even slightly better.

But there was nowhere left to go. He had no plan and there was no backing out of this. It was only him and the truth that stared at him from the ground, still trying to find air through damaged windpipes and a broken nose.

“I…” he paused, breaking away from her gaze and looking back down at Chaney. “I lied about finding a scholar. This is the man who told me about the journal while we were in prison.”

“Well, shit,” Nyoka muttered.

Max looked to Alex, his rage still vibrating in his fingertips and aching to break the ribs next. His violent thoughts were once again combating with his regret, the fear of him still apparent in her face as her gaze darted back and forth from Chaney to Max.

“You… you lied to me? You lied just so you could _murder_ someone?”

His regret won out this time. He wasn't able to completely silence the sadistic thoughts coming into his mind, but when he heard the tremor in her voice, the disbelief, he wanted to do everything he could to change the past. He would do anything at that moment just to make her stop looking at him in that way. Like he was... a monster.

“I have spent _years_ _,_ Alex, wasting my life searching for this,” he said, taking a step closer to her. His heart twisted even more when she took a step back, her hand going to her arm and covering her chest. “I was chasing a fucking fairy tale, and he knew it.”

Reginald had gained his footing, and was holding the end of his shirt to his nose, barely stopping the bleeding. “It - uh - sounds like you have things to work out between you, so I’ll just - just be on my way.”

Alex looked at him, then back at Max. Her next words were quiet, barely breaking a whisper. “If you want to kill someone for revenge, then you can. I won’t stop you.”

Chaney’s eyes widened. “Well, hold on a minute, lady--”

“But are you really going to give up everything you believe in? Do you honestly think this will make you feel better?” she asked, biting her lip. “Not even going to give him a chance to say anything in his defense?”

Max didn’t respond. He knew the answers to all her questions were a resounding “yes”. Or, he had thought it was. It was easy to think beating the life out of Chaney would fix his problems, that it would give him the resolution he needed. Now, he swam in doubts again, watching the fear linger in her eyes.

She took another step back, now standing next to Nyoka. “You obviously wanted to do this alone. So I’ll leave you to do what you need to. Find your way back to the ship when you’re done, Vicar. We’ll be docked in Stellar Bay.”

“Alex, wait--”

But she turned his back to him, her arms across her chest and her head lowered. 

Max watched her leave, Nyoka’s arm draped over her shoulders, and they waded through the stream towards the waterfall on the other side. It felt like she had taken a piece of him with her, the part of him that hoped for the impossible, and a sinking feeling took root in his stomach.

“Okay, look, I know that lady just gave you permission to kill me, but I would _really_ like to keep living, so, uh, I can tell you where I got the book, and maybe you can find answers there? Just please - please don’t kill me.”

The sound of his voice made Max bristle with anger again, made worse by the fact Alex had left him, but her questions and doubts didn't fade from his mind.

Max turned to face Chaney, his voice low and threatening as he made eye contact with the sniveling man. “Okay. Talk, Reggie, but if you lie about even the smallest detail, I will be back to make you feel more agony than you have ever felt in your small, pitiful existence.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so much editing. so much coffee. it is currently 4:24 a.m. and i am so tired.  
> is there such a thing as writer vampirism where you can only write after the sun goes down? please let me know, asking for a friend


	5. A Drink For The Road

_“Find your way back to the ship when you’re done, Vicar.”_

So many things in that single sentence stung his heart.

She had left him to do what he wanted, whether it was beating Reginald to a pulp like he had initially intended, or talking with him as she suggested. The captain didn’t wait for his decision, and Max didn’t blame her. Why should she? When she found him, he was already in the throes of his rage, seconds away from punching Chaney while he was on the ground.

And then she called him “Vicar”. Something so small, but so meaningful. He could hardly remember a time when she called him by his formal title, his latest recollection being their first few days after leaving Edgewater. She slowly slipped into calling him “Max”, and he had no desire to correct her, the way her lips formed his name too alluring.

Then he ruined it. He ruined all of it, just for momentary relief in revenge.

It was easy to think of the other paths he could’ve chosen, the other routes that ended better than the one he was living right now. So that’s what he did, diving head first into a world of shoulda, coulda, woulda’s as he drank the last of his liquor, feeling it burn his throat on the way down.

_“We’ll be docked in Stellar Bay.”_

Max didn’t return to the ship after he was through with Chaney. He left the man in one piece, and relatively uninjured, but stayed in Fallbrook.

He found his way to a bar, and had been drinking since. At first, he had just ordered the alcohol just to have something to hold, but as he finished one glass and started another, he drank to block the memories from his mind.

The memory of her eyes, wide with fear. Her voice wavering as he told her what he had done. Her resignation that this was the man he was. Selfish and violent.

Max realized his glass was empty when he reached for it, the act of finishing it off lost to him. He tapped his knuckles on the wooden counter, and the bartender walked over, reaching underneath the counter for more of the vodka.

“Rough night?”

He looked at his hands, the blood washed away, but the bruising was still there. “You could say that.”

The bartender poured the liquid into his glass, and he watched it rise, small waves rising up against the walls of the cup. “Well, you and everybody else in here,” she said, pulling the bottle away and twisting the cap back on.

“‘Here’s to alcohol, the cause of, and the solution to, all life’s problems’.” He raised his cup and tipped it back, swallowing the liquid fire. “Someone said that. I think.”

The bartender raised an eyebrow. “Okay, big guy.”

He set the glass back down. “‘Someone also said, 'if you love something, let it go’.”

One of patrons sitting next to him stood up, tossed a bit cartridge on the counter, and hobbled away, holding onto whatever he could to support himself. The bartender picked up his glass and started washing it with a rag, still looking at Max. “Right.”

“Do you believe that, Ms…?”

“Yvonne.”

“Ms. Yvonne,” Max nodded, the name unfamiliar on his tongue. “Do you believe if you love something, you should let it go?”

She rinsed the glass out and put it away, resting her elbows on the counter. “Are we talking about a _something_ or a _someone?”_

_Someone impossible to forget._

Someone with a habit of tapping her nails while she read, and hummed when she cooked. She found the imperfections in her skin when she was nervous, and whispered under her breath when she killed. He was never close enough to hear, only saw her lips move behind her rifle.

Her hair fell into her eyes when it wasn’t kept, a bun so pitifully loose it was bound to break free at the slightest tilt of her head. Her laugh, contagious and light, accompanied with a smile that warmed him even when he was irritated. Her kindness was unparalleled to anyone he had ever met, limitless and unconditional. She was everything he wasn't, soft where he was rough, selfless where he was conceited, and she succeeded where he had failed.

There would never be enough time in the universe to describe her and all her intricacies.

Max realized he had been quiet for a few minutes, the bartender still looking at him. He responded too simply with, “Someone.”

“And just why do you have to let them go?”

He took another drink. “I lied to her and I think... she fears me. I was seconds away from brutalizing and ending a man's life because I felt I was owed it. I want to be the one who is there for her, but I'm barely capable of being in control of my emotions and she needs someone who is.”

Yvonne rolled her eyes. “Oh, fuck you. Acting like you know what she needs."

Max blinked, and the bartender continued. “Look, I don’t know your story, and I really don’t want to know, but since I’m here I’m gonna tell you to get over yourself. She might forgive you, she might not, and there's nothing you can do about it except say you're fucking sorry. So just wait it out, man, and hope to the void she accepts your apology. And _do better_ next time."

He watched as Yvonne filled up his glass once again, and kept the bottle above the counter. "Have yourself another drink. I’m charging you double since I graciously included my time.”

Max took it, holding it but didn't drink from it. “I have tried - _am_ trying - to be better. All my life I have worked to improve myself.”

Yvonne looked at his vestments, then to his drink, eyes steady and tinted red behind her glasses. “You’re a religious man drowning his sorrows in alcohol.Try harder.”

Max looked back down at the glass, now hesitant to take another sip. _Is this part of the Equation? That I would do this, be here in this bar? Was it always so certain that I would lose control of myself? I've tried to be a better man. Am I any better than I was a decade ago?_

His vision was blurry, and he realized he needed something different than the liquor he heavily supplied his stomach with.

He cleared his throat, pushing the glass back. "Do you have any tea? Purpleberry Fizz and Trip-Teaz, perhaps?"

"Hmm." Yvonne walked to the back of the bar, opening cupboards and looking inside. “We don’t really have a call for anything that’s not a mixer. Let's see... some old cider, energy brew... oh. It looks like you're in luck. You want them separate?"

"Together. Three fourths Trip, and one fourth purpleberry."

"That's... weird."

Max remembered when he was introduced to it. It was their first late night together, he was listening to the radio and reading one of the OSI's books, and she had come out of her cabin for some tea. Small talk about what he was reading led to them conversing for well over an hour, and she had made him a glass. The first sip he took must have resulted in him making a face, because he could remember her laugh so well, bubbly and warm, just like the drink. In their subsequent talks, she always made him a mug, and he never asked her not to.

Yvonne passed him the sweet smelling glass, then walked away to the other end of the bar, bringing the bottle of vodka with her.

One question stayed on his mind as he drank the caffeinated mixture, asking if he would return to the ship, but as the drunken fog in his mind cleared he stared at the wall in realization.

The quote he mentioned was the first time he said it out loud. The first time it was made real. He had breathed it into existence, solidifying what he had known for weeks.

_"If you love someone."_


	6. Two Sides Of The Same Coin

_Why are the lights so damn bright? Who turned them on? Did I give authorization for that? Is my..._

_Is my hand **wet?**_

Alex groaned, her back aching and head pounding. She rolled over, her still pink wounds on her stomach stretching and throbbing, and she blinked her eyes open against the light above her. She held a hand above her face, shielding her eyes from the blinding fluorescent lights, and tried to make sense of where she was.

She curled her fingers on her other hand, and realized they had been swimming in a pool of wine. Or vodka. Maybe both? Too many bottles were scattered on the table that she was laying on to tell--

_Wait, why am I on a fucking table?_

Alex looked over to her other side, the light shining through the gaps between her fingers, and saw Nyoka also sleeping on the table, but her eyes were closed and she was snoring, a small trail of drool falling from her mouth to another mysterious puddle on the table.

“Nyoka.”

The hunter’s eyes squeezed even tighter closed. “I’m late to a party with the empress...” she mumbled, before she gave another loud snore.

Alex stared at her. “I - what?”

“…gotta get some cookies for Ellie.”

Alex’s eyes had adjusted to the light, although still too bright, and she rubbed her face as bits and pieces of the night before came back in hazy, dark detail. There was... drinking. Lots of drinking. And dancing. An existential crisis, followed by... drinking.

The pounding in her head was relentless, her skull barely containing the pulsing headache. She licked her lips and swallowed, but no spit coated her throat or her mouth, the inside of it completely barren.

Alex looked back at the still sleeping Nyoka, and poked her in her forehead. “Nyoka.”

Her eyes fluttered open, glazed over and bloodshot. “Huh?”

“You...” she swallowed again, hoping to lessen the scratchiness of her voice. “You got a cigarette?”

Nyoka rubbed her nose, and wiped the trail of spit from her mouth. “Cigarette. Cig-eerrrr-ret,” she drawled, repeating the word, slurring as she sat up and looked at her feet, and found that one no longer had a boot. “Where’s my, uh - my foot th… my shoe. Where’s my shoe?”

Alex looked around, her head cloudy and the objects in the room not really making sense. Things blurred into other things, and it was hard to determine what was what exactly. She avoided focusing her eyes on the objects, or just in anything in particular, her head punishing her with another wave of pain.

“Hey - do you see - wait, why do you have my shoe?”

Alex sat up, and looked at her own feet. Indeed, one foot held her own boot, and the other had Nyoka’s, although it was stuck on haphazardly, as she was still wearing both of her shoes. “I... don't know.”

Nyoka leaned forward, and her eyes widened as she almost fell off the table. “I think I’m still - drunk,” she hiccuped, and motioned to Alex’s foot. “Gimme my shoe back.”

Alex turned to Nyoka, who was squinting at the distance from the table to the ground. “For a cigarette.”

She felt along her belt, and pulled out a pack, handing one cigarette to Alex and placing one in her own lips before lighting it. “Now gimme.”

Alex pulled Nyoka’s boot off, and handed it off to her. She cradled her head in her hands, and closed her eyes as more fragments of the night before ran through her mind. They had talked about something... something really important, and Alex felt her stomach tingling and dread creeping in--

_“Smoking is not advised. It can lead to health complications, early smoke detector replacement, and annoyed crew members. Please refrain from smoking in the kitchen.”_

She jumped, nearly launching herself from the table, and was rewarded with the pounding in her head swinging back in full force, and her stomach no longer tingled but flopped violently.

“Too loud, ADA, please, too loud,” Alex groaned, rubbing her temples with her fingers. She fought the urge to run to the bathroom, swallowing again to help settle her insides.

_“Is this volume more suitable?”_

Alex glared at the ceiling, the memory of where the camera was completely forgotten. “No.”

_“This is the lowest level my voice function is capable of. My previous precaution stands; please refrain from smoking in the kitchen. We have an airlock, which leads to the outside. Did you know that smoking outside leads to less annoyed crew members, and a more functional AI? Fact of the day.”_

“You’re… you’re saying a lot of words, ADA. Loudly.”

_“Don’t smoke in the kitchen, Captain Hawthorne.”_

Alex looked at Nyoka, who was holding the lighter out to her. Alex took it and lit her cigarette, filling her lungs with the bittersweet tobacco, and blew the smoke at the ceiling.

_“Your actions have been noted. Please expect a mutiny in 7-10 business days.”_

She smiled, then groaned as pain shot through her head. She held her forehead in her hand, and took another drag off the cigarette.

Nyoka leaned back, her palm flat against the table. “So, how you feelin’?”

“All my internals are doing fucking somersaults.”

Nyoka shook her head. “I mean about the whole ‘Max’ thing.”

 _Fuck._ “So that's what we talked about. I had… I kinda forgot about it. Until now.”

Nyoka gingerly set her feet on the ground - one still lacking a boot - and walked over to the fridge, bending down to search the lower contents. “That’s the whole point of drinkin’, Cap. Makes you all kinds a stupid.”

Alex laid back down on the table and closed her eyes, hoping to quell both her tumultuous stomach and pounding head. “Oh, so you mean I’m not supposed to drink for the killer hangover the next day?”

Nyoka laughed. “I'm sure some twisted soul does. But really, how're you holdin' up?”

Alex threw her arm over her eyes to further block out the light, and hopefully the memories that came along with the question. “I - I don’t know.”

Nyoka made a noncommittal sound in response.

Alex heard the fridge shut close and the clinking of glasses. “I guess I should just talk to him? See what we need to do next? That’s the… mature thing to do?”

Another noncommittal sound. “Seemed like you wanted to do more than just talk to him last night.”

She narrowed her eyes behind her arm, and bit her lip. “What does that - what - what'd I say?”

“Nothin’ I don’t already know.”

“That’s... vague.”

“Sure is.”

"Would you tell me if I ordered you to as captain?"

"I ain't sayin' shit."

Alex uncovered her eyes and turned her head to see Nyoka preparing breakfast. Something dehydrated and luckily, with no smell. "Rude."

"Consider it self-preservation, Cap."

She looked to the ceiling. "I guess I'll talk to him. There shouldn't be any harm in talking." She remembered the blood on his hands, the anger in his eyes as he looked at her. "Is he in his room, ADA?"

ADA responded, thankfully at a lower volume than it had been before. _“I have good news and bad news, Captain Hawthorne. As I understand, humans like to be asked which order they want to hear the information in. Would you like to hear the good news or the bad news first?”_

“The... good news?” Nyoka's breakfast was hydrated now and being microwaved, a faint aroma of sprat in the air.

_“It appears there is a setting within my personality matrix that can imitate a whisper. Voice level will be set to ‘whisper’ until directed otherwise.”_

Alex held her stomach, recoiling at the smell of food. “And the bad news?”

_“I have searched the ship’s cameras and incoming logs of passengers, and it does not appear as though Maximillian DeSoto has returned. His last reported appearance on board The Unreliable was 13 hours, 23 minutes, and 6 seconds ago. Now 7 seconds. Now 8 seconds. Now 9--”_

Alex’s stomach lurched, and she felt everything she had consumed the night before rush to her throat. She jolted up, covering her mouth with her hand, and scrambled off the table to the bathroom.

It felt like every single thing she had ever eaten or drank hurled out of her stomach and into the toilet. She hugged it, another wave of nausea overcoming her, and the pain in her head refused to subside.

“ADA. Land the ship in Fallbrook and please, for the love of everything that is holy, _stop counting.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i changed the tags around cause they're no longer accurate to the story (you would think i learned from raptiphobia and actually stick to my outline but noooo)  
> i had to cut a few chapters from this work (i planned for 8, then wrote 10, only to to cut it back to 8) due to the changes in my outline and my plan for this series. it's a sad day when we don't get to see max high off his ass, but it will be showing up in a future work, i promise!
> 
> (on a completely unrelated note, i discovered youtuber LegalEagle is a dead ringer for vicar max and i haven't been the same since)


	7. So Close, Yet So Far

Alex felt uneasy for a number of reasons.

Her stomach, which had already emptied its contents ten times over, was still tossing and turning inside her, threatening to erupt again at any given moment. In response, she avoided places with food, alcohol, and unsavory scents.

Which happened to be every single place in Fallbrook. She was becoming quite skilled at holding her breath for long intervals.

Another reason was because of Max. Alex didn’t bring anyone with her to find him, and irrational, vicious thoughts plagued her mind. _What if he thought I abandoned him? Leaving him to his own devices with Reginald? Would he want revenge if he did think that? If it came to it, would he be able to control his anger or would he lash out at me?_

Alex knew that he wouldn’t. It was a gut feeling inside her, but when she fought with her own mind and provided reasoning as to why he wouldn’t, it retaliated, bringing up the day before. The blood on his hands, his shotgun ready to break bones and slash through skin. The look in his eyes when he turned around, full of malice and hatred.

It was that look that kept those irrational thoughts coming back. She had never seen anything like that in those pale, green eyes before. She had only known them to be warm, soft, and understanding as she grew to know the man behind them.

But now her perception of him was twisted. Was he the reassuring vicar who provided her with comforts and held her hand? Or was it the menacing killer, who let his rage take hold and would destroy anything in his path?

Even then, there was still an ache, a desire for him. It was maddening. Her body, her heart, and her mind were all fighting with one another, and now her stomach had entered the round, flopping around like a damn fish, threatening to release pure bile on an unsuspecting shrub.

Alex had checked the non-food places in a desperate hope that maybe he was relaxing in the “Dry Goods & Sundry” or maybe in the insurance office camped out in the middle of town. Against her better judgement, she knocked on Reginald’s door and when there was no answer she couldn’t help but feel fear rise in her throat. Or, she hoped it was just fear. As she made her way through the town, it was difficult to not speculate on what had taken place at the river. Did Max actually kill Chaney? Should she have stayed to prevent it?

She had combed through every other building in Fallbrook, and now stood at the door to “House of Hospitality” and prayed to anyone listening that he wasn’t in there.

It was everything she had been avoiding, food, drinks, loud noise, and the stench of the unwashed. The perfect combination to further aggravate her rolling stomach and throbbing head.

She walked in, nodding to Catherine as she passed, and went up the stairs, patrons cheering and booing as an announcer from a tossball match declared a score for the Spacer’s Chosen.

_Did it always smell like this?_

The bar and the backs of too many people greeted her, and she held onto the railing of the stairs, scanning the crowd for a familiar face. One with faded umber hair, a furrowed brow, and a slight look of contempt. She didn't see him in the crowd of tossball fans, so she looked to the tables on the other side of the bar.

It stood to reason that she would see him in one of Fallbrook's not-so-fine establishments, but she didn't expect what seeing him would to do to her.

Her throat closed, and she could feel her heart stutter in her chest. The turmoil her stomach was determined to wreak worsened, however it was not caused by the cheering, or the stench of booze and vomit. It was caused by him, her mind completely wrapped in a curtain of uncertainty and unease, looking at the tilt of his head and the concentration set in his eyes.

Max didn't notice her as she walked to the table he was sitting at. She took each step slowly, in a vain attempt to quell the tension growing in her.

He looked so different than the day before, she could almost see the scenery change from the dimly lit bar to his room on the ship. It was like yesterday never happened. Like they were back on the Unreliable and she was in the doorway of his room, asking what he was reading. He would look up, and smile before telling her about the notes he had left in the margins of the page, reading her excerpts of a book from a religion she didn't have faith in. The smell of the bar wafted to her nose and the imaginary setting faded away, bringing her back to the present.

A small part of her feared when he looked at her this time, she would see the same hatred that had become stuck in her mind.

She pulled out the chair across from him. He did raise his eyes to hers, but they held only surprise.

“Alex?”

She sat down, her back stiff and arms crossed over her chest. “Vicar.”

He set the book down on the table. “Forgive me, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Trust me, I don’t want to be.”

She saw him wince, although it was quick enough she would've missed it if she blinked. “No, I didn't mean - I just - I have a headache, and the people here are… loud.”

He nodded, looking to the hoard that surrounded the bar.

Alex studied him, searching for something that conveyed his thoughts, but he was calm, and let nothing show through in the moments between words.

When he looked back at her, he spoke, his voice tentative. “Would you care for a drink?”

“No,” she said, fighting back nausea. “I… I’ve had enough to last a lifetime, I think.”

He nodded again. “You look paler than normal.”

“Well, that's the price of forgetting.”

Another look of hurt, but she had meant what she said that time.

“I understand,” he said quietly, his words almost drowned by another bout of cheers from the crowd. “I would like to talk to you about it, if it’s okay. Do you want to go someplace less... populated?”

Alex nodded, and stood up from her chair, pulling her hair out of its bun and retying it. She did this several times as she walked out of the building, something to distract her, something else to focus on besides the smell, the noise, the man following her, the conversation that laid ahead. 

Every time she thought of what she might say, it landed in dead-ends. There was no way to predict what Max would do, she had thought she knew him, but he opened up another side that she was utterly unprepared for. She wished for a time when she knew. 

Once out in the open, she took a moment to let herself breathe and try to steady her stomach, then walked the path in the direction of the waterfall.

She could hear footsteps behind her, but didn't look behind her to see if it was Max, and if it was, he didn’t say anything. As they left the innermost part of the town, the noise of chatter and mechanics slowly faded, replaced by the rushing sound of the waterfall. She felt the sun wash over her as she stepped into it, taking in the strange view of the surrounding landscape. Red colored the mountains, the trees, even the rocks, and combined with orange and yellow lights illuminating the ground, it felt warm. Beautiful, even.

She carefully stepped over the rocks, avoiding the guards and made her way to the riverbank, closer to the waterfall. The sound of it didn’t worsen her headache, instead soothed her, a comfort from some time ago, from a place she could no longer remember.

She stopped at where the water met the ground, and watched the current lap over shallow rocks. She could feel the breeze carrying mist to her cheeks, and this too, seemed achingly familiar.

“A unique choice,” he said, after Alex remained quiet.

“I like the sound of the water. It’s…” she paused, and realized she didn't know how to voice the feeling. “I don’t know. You were wanting to talk?”

“Yes. I wanted to thank you for what you did.”

The water seemed unnaturally clear, for a town as dirty as Fallbrook. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You may think that, but you talked sense into me. He didn’t deserve what I had intended for him.”

Alex tore her gaze away from the river and looked at Max, but he had turned and she could only see the side of his neck and his hair, now becoming damp in the spray of mist. “You didn’t kill him?”

“No.”

She exhaled a breath she didn't know she was holding, and felt the smallest amount of tension leave her shoulders. “Did he tell you anything that would help you?”

"That’s not important right now. I lied to you, Alex."

Max met her gaze, and in this light, she could see his face more clearly. The lines of regret worn into his brow and lips, his eyes holding such intense guilt, it almost willed her to press her forehead against his and whisper _"_ _it's okay"._

Then she remembered him standing over Chaney, his shotgun raised and blood on his hands.

“I took advantage of you, used you, to get to him. I was so obsessed for so long… I couldn’t see anything else.” He lowered his voice. “You owe me nothing, I know, but I’m… begging your forgiveness.”

She couldn’t summon her voice, even if she wanted to.

His eyes searched hers. The only sound to be heard was the water, and she looked to it, watching her reflection ripple in the current. She looked at the scar along her cheek, and touched it, remembering the pain she had felt, and the safety he had once provided. She swallowed, her throat scratching against the motion.

"You were going to kill him," she said finally.

"Yes."

"Because he didn't give you what you wanted."

He didn't answer.

She turned back to him, still running her nails along the rough scar. "What would stop you in the future? What if one of my crew does something you can't forgive?" Alex paused, and the sound of the waterfall almost covered her next words. "What if I do?"

The devastation in his eyes was so clear, it was tangible in the air.

“You... you think that I would hurt you? Alex, there is nothing, and I mean _nothing_ you could ever do to evoke my anger."

He had come closer, but she didn’t back away, instead tilting her head to look in his eyes. “How am I supposed to know that?” she whispered.

Max stepped even closer, and he lifted his hand towards her own, his fingers reaching but unsure. “Because I...” his eyes darted back and forth between hers, his own hesitation apparent.

She held her breath, the space between them almost non existent, and she waited on his next words.

Something in his eyes gave, and he rested his hand on her shoulder. "Because I owe you everything. You helped me when you had no reason to, offered your ship, your friendship, and I will never do anything to jeopardize your safety or your crew's. I'm with you until the end, or for as long as you'll have me."

Alex felt the part of her mind that clung to the memory of the night before slowly loosen and fall away, and even though she felt more at ease, she couldn't help but also feel disappointed. It seemed there was something else on his mind, something she wouldn't dare ask aloud. She laid her hand on his and leaned into his chest, a comfort she had missed all too much. "I'm... I'm happy to hear that, Max."

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and brought her closer to him, resting his chin on the top of her head. "I'm so sorry."

She pressed against him and closed her eyes, taking in his scent of salt water and tea. "I know," she said softly. "It's okay. Just... just don't do it again."

He curled his hand around her and stroked her gently with his thumb. His voice was quiet and rough and passionate all at once, it broke her that she had ever doubted him at all.

"Never," he promised.


	8. Purpleberry Tea

He almost told her.

Standing next to the waterfall, droplets forming in her hair and on her skin, reflecting the red and yellow colors of the landscape around them, he was so close to saying that one little word.

Max opened the bookcase, the hinges on it squeaking, and ran his index finger along the spines of the books inside. He slid Bakonu’s journal in between “Bachelor: Tossball Player ‘Take-It-Easy’ Tatum Tells All” and “The Battle for Corporate Religion”, and it nestled right in, kicking up dust from the books it now rested against.

It would’ve been easy to tell her. She had looked so beautiful, so expectant, and he longed to feel her skin underneath his fingers, to feel the way her lips would move against his, but it wasn’t the right time.

He wasn’t sure if there would ever be a right time.

For now, all he could do was be grateful that he was still allowed on the ship. She promised to keep helping him find his answers, that they would go to Scylla once their business on Monarch had been resolved, and of course she had. She was forgiving, kind in every single way she shouldn’t be.

But he was still grateful.

He closed the bookcase, and walked over to his desk. Scraps of paper were scattered, each with notes on the journal, updates on the location of Chaney. Max remembered writing them, but it no longer seemed as important as it did then. He crumpled the ones with Reginald’s name and tossed it into a waste bucket by his shelf.

“Hey, Max?”

He looked up, and saw Alex standing in his doorway, her hair free of a cloth band and freshly washed. She was dressed in her casual clothes, everyone else long asleep, and the dark hallway silhouetted her small figure.

“Yes?”

“I was gonna go make some tea. I was, um, wondering if you wanted to join me for a cup?”

He could feel a smile shadowing his lips. It was almost back to normal, the way she asked him.

“I’d love to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well that was a really short chapter  
> i'm gonna be taking a break for a little while as my time off work comes to an end, but i now have a tumblr by the same name! i'll post some art and updates on works there when i get some free time  
> anyway, thank you so much for reading, much love and stay safe ♡


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